


Selfishly Selfless

by InfinitiveSplitter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry John, Annoyed John Watson, Doctor John Watson, Hurt Sherlock Holmes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 10:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17384990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfinitiveSplitter/pseuds/InfinitiveSplitter
Summary: Sherlock doesn't eat whilst on a case. This becomes a problem when the case lasts for three days and John finds Sherlock passed out from malnourishment.





	1. Chapter 1

Back from the clinic, smelling of disinfectant, John's feet were dragging as he yawned into the back of his hand. He looked up at the multitude of stairs, lacking the energy to so much as groan at the thought of effort, and started his journey towards the summit. He was dreading having to face Sherlock, who was currently stuck on a case. Three days in and he was no closer to solving it than when it had first been received. When this happened (which it rarely did), John would take the brunt of Sherlock's frustrations. This made John wish, despite his tired state, that his shift had lasted longer. 

Nearing the top of the stairs, he frowned at the lack of noise. There were usually a sequence of footsteps- Sherlock pacing around the flat. Even just the clatter of a petri dish being thrown to the floor after yet another bacteria culture had failed to give him the answers. John's tiredness was now long forgotten having been consumed by his growing feeling of something not being right. Dashing through the doorway, head snapping around for just one indication of danger, his eyes landed upon a mop of curls on the floor. Sherlock's limp body was just a few steps away from his chair.

Just as he was trained, he thrust his anxiousness to the back of his head letting "Doctor John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers" take charge.

"Sherlock, can you hear me?" John calmly inquired, patting Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock's grunt of acknowledgement eased John's nerves. "Open your eyes." he instructed before being met by Sherlock's enlarged pupils, hazed by confusion. John shot up in search of his torch, finding it behind the severed hand concealed in a plastic bag, and sunk right back down to Sherlock's side again.

"Sherlock, you need to keep you eyes open, don't go to sleep. Looks like you've hit your head." John muttered whilst examining the tender, purple bruise above his right eyebrow. Shining the torch in both eyes, he was relieved to see his pupils reduce in size, blocking out the intruding light.

"I passed out" Sherlock muttered, frowning as if trying to process the information.

"Don't know where you got that idea from" John grumbled sarcastically as he shoved his torch into his pocket. He knew exactly why this had happened.

"When did you last eat something?" John interrogated, not at all looking forward to the answer.

"Wednes-"

"Wednesday?! It's bloody Friday, Sherlock!"

"Sit up" John managed through gritted teeth. He had never known a genius to be so stupid. He was dealing with a stubborn man-toddler who would rather pass out from malnourishment than look after his "transport". Sherlock rolled over to his back and shielded his eyes with his forearm. "Don't want to" he mumbled, mouth barely opening wide enough to enunciate his words. "Don't "want" to or you "can't"?" John questioned with concern.

When he was met with silence, he slid his hand behind Sherlock's upper back, gently easing and sitting him upright. Sherlock slouched against John before muttering the word "tired". If Sherlock Holmes admits he's tired, it must be an exhaustion unlike any other. John moved Sherlock's arm to wrap around his shoulder, grabbed Sherlock around the waist, and slowly raised them from the ground. As Sherlock's knees shook with the effort of holding himself up, he and John shuffled along to his bedroom as John encouraged him with a myriad of "That's it" and "You're doing well." Sherlock would never admit that it helped.

When his eyes were met by the sight of a bed, his body was left drained of any energy to continue and so all his weight was relocated to John. What caught John's attention was how light Sherlock was despite his height.

Something needed to be done about that.

Head hitting the pillow, his fingertips pinched the edge of slumber, only for it to be snatched away by John's stern words : "You have a concussion, you can sleep when I tell you". He didn't even have the energy to scowl at John's comment.

"I'm worried about you, Sherlock."

That was incentive enough for Sherlock, running on fumes at this point, to turn his and look at John, his gaze soft. "I know, John. It's just that while I'm having some "shut-eye" or eating some fancy "kebab", people are getting murdered."

"If you don't look after yourself, who's going to stop the murderers? You need to put yourself first for once." At this, Sherlock scoffed. "I'm not doing this "for the people", John. I'm doing it for the thrill of the chase, the adrenaline: it gives me a high stronger than any drug I've ever taken. I'm not a hero, I'm a very tired man who needs to sleep now, so piss off".

"Now that's Sherlock." John thought to himself, a smile broadening on his face.

"I'm just going to phone Lestrade" John said absentmindedly. Sherlock, however, after many attempts at bolting upright at the news, flopped back down again and scowled. "Why? I'll be fine in the morning." Sherlock asked, the exasperation in his voice clearly using up the little energy he was clinging to for consciousness. John didn't respond but rather held the phone up to his ear. After two rings, Greg picked up the phone.

"Everything alright, mate? I'm a bit busy at the moment."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I'm just calling to say" John turns to look at Sherlock, directing this to him more than anyone "that Sherlock is off the case."

"This case is at least a nine. What happened to him?"

"I found him passed out on the floor when I got back. Told me he hadn't eaten since Wednesday. When I've finished reviving the sod you can have him back. Sorry again, Greg."

"It's alright, mate. Want me to tell Mycroft?"

"No, I think he's learnt his lesson." John frowned, briefly pulling his phone from his ear to prod Sherlock awake again.

"I'll keep you updated." John finished, ending the call. Sherlock, still with his eyes closed, muttered a small "Enjoy your little gossip?".

"Yep." John remarked, purposefully putting emphasis on the "p", mimicking Sherlock.

This was going to be a long week.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, thanks to John, recovers and learns a thing or two about the importance of food.

Later that night, John had heard Sherlock's snores echo around his bedroom. He would even go as far as to say that Mrs Hudson heard them too. Despite being kept up all night, he was ecstatic that Sherlock was finally getting some rest. He would take all the sleep deprivation in the world for that man. When the time reached eight o'clock, John got out of bed and waddled down the stairs to the kitchen. Sherlock's body wouldn't be ready to consume such a large meal after its starvation, so John stuck to making beans on toast. 

With the plate in his hand, he shuffled towards Sherlock's bedroom, peeking his head around the door. He saw Sherlock sat upright in his bed looking much less pale. To stop himself being caught lurking, he knocked twice and walked towards the bed. Sherlock looked quite happy to see John. Temporarily of course, for when he laid eyes on the food in John's hands his expression crashed into a scowl and he stubbornly turned his head away, arms crossed.

Sherlock's stomach growled loudly but both men pretended not to hear it. Sherlock, because he would not let his transport beat him, and John, because he wanted to see how long Sherlock could keep up his act. Not long by the sounds of things. 

John moved slowly, like Sherlock was a skittish horse, and put the plate in his lap.

"No."

"Eat it."

"No."

"Eat it, Sherlock."

"Guess what I'm going to say next, John."

John sighed, knowing he'd have to try a different approach. "Eat it and I'll give you the new information on the case. Greg phoned me an hour ago."

John tried to conceal his flicker of hope as Sherlock looked down at the plate on his lap. "Even if I get the information from you, my body will be too busy metabolizing "this" to properly analysis it." Sherlock said, however his eyes remained on the food. Before he could register what he was doing, he found himself holding a slice of toast. His "transport" was rebelling against him. Once the smell of wheat and melted butter hit his nose, he couldn't stop his hand from gravitating towards his mouth. Gradually, a tiny nibble began to grow into big bites as his self-restraint slipped away.

"Call me when you've finished." John told him, not wanting to over stay his welcome.

 

While he waited for Sherlock, John sat in his chair and began working on his blog. Focusing was difficult when his thoughts kept wandering to Sherlock and his idiosyncrasies. He thanked his lucky stars that Mrs Hudson had been there to look after Sherlock, dreading to think how he would have survived on his own. John then began to think about how he would have survived without Sherlock. Despite it being something they never talked about, they both knew he wouldn't have.

"John." He heard in the distance and smiled at how he could hear the pout in Sherlock's voice.

When he reached Sherlock's room, Sherlock was looking at his empty plate with a scowl. "I can already feel my brain slowing down, growing weaker. God, John, do you feel like this all the time?" Sherlock asked, unaware of his previous insult. John just closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them again, Sherlock was looking sheepish.

"What's wrong?" John asked.

"CanIhavesomemoreplease?" Sherlock murmured quickly. John was all too aware of what Sherlock had just asked and decided to string out his victory.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Can I have some more, please?" Sherlock repeated monotonously, glaring at John and his incessant teasing. "Of course, you idiot" John smirked. Sherlock gave a little smile back.

John stopped smiling, however, when he saw Sherlock wince. Pushing all jokes aside, he marched up to the bed and examined Sherlock. "What's wrong? Are you in any pain?". Sherlock nodded, holding a hand against the bruise on his head. "Headache" he complained, screwing his eyes shut. "Alright, it's okay." John reassured as he rushed to close the curtains. "Better?" John urged after returning to his side. Sherlock nodded and muttered a "Thank you".

"It's alright." John replied, watching Sherlock closely. "We just have to take it easy for a while".

\------Sunday-------

This little negotiation between them, food for information on the case, was working well. That was until John ran out of information and so Sherlock saw no reason to eat. Time for a different approach.

Walking into Sherlock's room with a bowl of porridge, he saw Sherlock texting on his phone. His bruise had started to clear away and the dark circles under his eyes began to retreat.

"Come to bargain?" Sherlock asked, not looking up from his phone.

"How are you feeling today, Sherlock?" John asked innocently. Sherlock eyed John suspiciously, but quickly came to his conclusion that John's brain couldn't actually have the potential to be up to anything, so he gave an honest answer. "Better, actually. My brain is working faster than yesterday and my headache has gone away." John smiled and said "That's good. Though, I know a little trick that will help you feel like this all the time."

Sherlock already knew where this was going so he decided to stay silent before John's little outburst.

"Bloody eating, you twonk! I don't understand how someone as smart as you can't see that feeding your brain works better than starving it. Now I'm going to sit here and wait for you to eat. However long it takes, Sherlock, because you know that if I have anything at all, it's patience." John finished by plonking himself in a chair in the corner of Sherlock's room.

Sherlock couldn't be bothered to prolong the inevitable and so he muttered a bratty "Fine" before shoving his spoon into the porridge. John was shocked at how easy it was and suddenly felt embarrassed about his over the top outburst. He was happy though: if something other than negotiating could make Sherlock eat, then there was hope that Sherlock could realize his body was more than just "transport".

After the bowl had been scraped clean, John took it from him and began to leave the room.

"Wait." Sherlock said, not sure where to look. John turned back around to face him. "I am feeling much better than I was...Suppose I have you to thank for that" Sherlock said, somehow managing to avoid actually saying "Thank you".

"You're welcome, Sherlock" John said calmly, yet when he was out of the room, nothing could remove the big smile on his face .

\------Monday------

No longer bed-bound, Sherlock was all over the flat doing his usual clattering about. John didn't want him to revert back to old habits, so he purchased a clock that would chime at seven, twelve and six- breakfast, lunch and dinner. Sherlock had tried to destroy it several times during the day, but John would slap the pipette of chemicals out of his hand or hide his gun to stop him trying to shoot at it again.

When the clock chimed seven, Sherlock sat down at the kitchen table and ate his cereal obediently. This was to insure that John assumed he would behave the rest of the day, a fatal assumption. Half an hour before the clock chimed twelve, Sherlock was hurriedly putting on his Belstaff in an attempt to flee whilst John was distracted in the kitchen. As he tip-toed across the floor, one of the floorboards groaned under his weight.

He froze.

He looked behind him.

John stood with his arms folded, an eyebrow raised. "Really?" he asked, a bit insulted that Sherlock thought he was that stupid. Sherlock stood up straighter and raised his chin, some dignity would be appreciated. "Before you have a go at me," Sherlock began "I think you should hear me out." When John made no move to cut him off, Sherlock continued. "I have been cooped up in this flat all day, you know how I get when I'm deprived for a prolonged amount of time. Just let me go to the crime scene for a while and I'll come straight back." There was a pause before he added a small "Please."

John sighed. He understood how rubbish this must be for Sherlock and took pity on him. "How about this?" John replied. "You can go out, but I have to come with you and make sure you're fed." Sherlock sighed but nodded.

 

At the crime scene, Sherlock was stood over the body and firing off his deductions. "As the fingerprints on the pen lid are from her left hand, the killer is obviously right-handed. Lestrade, you need to phone the station immediately and let our previous suspect go. It wou-" Sherlock was cut off by John saying "Open". Sherlock sighed before opening his mouth and allowing John to place the forkful of rice into it. He agreed to John making sure he was fed, he did not anticipate actually "being" fed by him.

"As I was saying," He continued after he had eaten it, ignoring the look of shock on Greg's face "it would be wise to scrape the polish off the victim's shoes, I need to identify the brand and locate the shop that sells it with a fifteen mile radius of their house." Lestrade just nodded, distracted as he watched John clear his throat, telling Sherlock to open his mouth, only to feed him yet again. Still chewing, Sherlock turned to Lestrade and muttered "Call me when the samples are ready to be collected". With that, Sherlock turned with a dramatic waft of his coat and John trailing quickly behind, holding a container of chicken and rice.

 

Back at 221B, Sherlock was sulking. "That was tedious, humiliating-"

"-and absolutely necessary: it's hardly my fault you're so difficult. I know you wouldn't have eaten if you went on your own." John added, using Sherlock's scowl as clarification that he was right.

After a short silence, John chuckled as he said "Did you see Greg's face, though? He was mortified." Sherlock cracked a smile. He felt a lot better and knew that John's awareness of his appreciation was worth more than his ego. "Well," he thought, "here goes nothing".

"John, there is no doubt in my mind that I am the most stubborn man you've ever come across and I know you're doing this because you" eye roll "care about me, so...thank you."

John smiled and got up, ruffling Sherlock's curls as he went by on his way to the kitchen, narrowly avoiding Sherlock as he tried to swat John away.

 

When John became certain that Sherlock cared more for his "transport" than before, he discretely took down the clock: a silent gesture of the new-found trust between them. Sherlock always found the time to sit down and eat with John. Yes, he would occasionally skip a meal- he didn't want to be seen as too obedient- but it was a far greater improvement than not eating for several days in a row.

In time he began to gain weight, ran for longer when on a chase, and eventually came to the conclusion that from time to time, John was actually right. 

John couldn't have agreed more.


End file.
